


Falling

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evil First Aid has been captured by the Decepticons. Hook and Motormaster have a constructive exchange of opinions on what to do with him.</p><p>Contains: drug abuse, mention of character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

First Aid hunched at the back of the cell, shivering. It felt as though the walls were melting, the floor too. Like he was rushing dizzy down a long and dissolute tunnel, and there was nothing beneath him but air. He saw the cell, the recharge station, the energon bars crackling the full length of one wall. But they weren’t real, they couldn’t be. Otherwise how could he be falling?

After a while, he became aware of voices. An automated program ran recognition protocols without his conscious instruction: Motormaster, the odd, immense grounder, and Hook, the Decepticon medic. He heard their words, analysed them, logged them, but had absolutely no idea what they were saying.

“We can’t keep him in there,” Motormaster said. “He’s so young. He needs a constructive, nurturing environment.”

“You can’t save them all,” Hook responded, and even though First Aid couldn’t pull meaning from the tangle of syllables, he knew regret when he heard it. He raised his head, the final kick of the stim virus making his every cable tremble.

“But he’s frightened,” Motormaster protested. “Look at him!”

Hook sighed. “He’s high,” he said, and _that_ First Aid understood. High, floating, falling, travelling at speed through this weird long pipe, while the ghostly room with the bunk and the bars and the Decepticons outside travelled with him.

He wondered if their tanks felt as though they’d been flipped upside down, because his sure did. But he couldn’t get his vocorder lined up with whatever it was doing the thinking. He didn’t remember its name. Ratchet had told him, had shown him piece by piece which parts of a mech’s cybernetic brain controlled which elements of their self, but the knowledge was gone. For now.

Maybe he’d remember again later.

“And who let him get like that?” Motormaster said. He didn’t raise his voice, but the intensity of his emotion was clear. “His activation date was a quartex ago. _One_ quartex. He should be learning what it is to live, not sent out to… to do what _they_ wanted him to do.”

“What do you suggest?” Hook snapped, and First Aid tried to crawl towards the bars, to ask him to say that again, he hadn’t caught it the first time. He didn’t though; his hydraulics weren’t quite under his control.

“Just that we help him,” Motormaster replied. The bars fizzled out, maybe they’d stopped falling? And Hook was saying something, loud, indignant. Something about a dead mech, about grieving and replacement and why it never worked. First Aid looked up into an immense pair of optics, so very close. Then massive arms wrapped around him, and the vibrations of a large and powerful engine thrummed through his frame. He clung to the unfamiliar shoulders, in case Motormaster too stopped falling and went away like the bars. First Aid didn’t want that, the thrumming was soothing, pleasant.

“This is a bad idea,” Hook said.

“Maybe,” Motormaster sighed. “But it’s better than the alternative.”


End file.
